


A Start

by oftennot



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, brief descriptions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21743917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oftennot/pseuds/oftennot
Summary: Fjord and Yasha have a brief talk after she's been freed from Obann's control and has returned to the Mighty Nein.The others may be able to easily accept her back into the group, but Fjord struggles.
Relationships: Fjord & Yasha (Critical Role)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 57





	A Start

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this at 18:30 on a Tuesday while slightly tipsy. But I am in my feels and love the unresolved tension between Fjord and Yasha and want it explored. So, here you go.

He should be happy and relieved that Yasha is back with the group and herself again. And he is, really. In some way. 

Fjord watches Jester hug Yasha, her shoulders jerking as she hiccups between breaths and tears spill down her cheeks. He sees the easy, calm smile Caduceus gives her, catches the look in Caleb’s sad eyes as he reaches up and grips her shoulder in a show of understanding. Nott makes her usual sarcastic quip, but the way she hovers near their returned friend gives away her shared joy that the group is finally complete again. Even Beauregard, who was nearly killed by Yasha’s own hand, who has the most reason out of them all to be wary and hesitant, accepts Yasha’s touch as the woman lays her hands on the wounds her sword created. Beau’s eyes are hard and swimming with a myriad of emotions, but she accepts her all the same.

The others welcome her back so quickly, so easily, as if she had never been gone in the first place. Fjord can’t play pretend like the others seem eager to do. It’s not that he doesn’t care for Yasha; he does. He _did_. He tried his damned hardest to save her, to free her from Obann, and she nearly killed him for it. 

He remembers casting Misty Step to materialize in front of Yasha, grabbing her shoulders and saying, “You ready to get the fuck out of here?” He expected a small, awkward smile from her and a slight nod, or at least a look of relief and gratefulness. Instead, Yasha’s eyes stared right through him, a slow grin stretching her lips as he felt magic surge through his veins and heard the loud crack of thunder reverberate through the cavern. He reappeared by the door that they would escape through, his hands still grasping the air where Yasha was supposed to be. 

He had been safe beyond the doorway, but as he surveyed the battlefield and saw his friends suffering bites from the sharp teeth of the hellhounds and being frightened by the cackling of the Laughing Hand, Fjord knew he could not sit idly by while they were in trouble. He hacked his way back into the fray, but in a matter of seconds it was only him facing the drooling and grinning mouths of the Hand, and his friend and once-ally, Yasha. 

Yasha, who had been unwilling to retreat with him. Yasha, whose bone-crushing sword sliced through the air and slammed into the earth, cracking the concrete beneath it as she cut down Jester’s duplicate, a strike that would have finished their blue friend. 

Yasha, whose size and appearance were a stark contrast to the quiet and contemplative nature she possessed. Yasha, who collected flowers for her lost love. Yasha, with her shy smiles and mismatched, kind eyes. 

Yasha grinned as she approached Fjord, who was frightened and unable to runaway as the Laughing Hand restrained him. Her eyes were clear and bright, harsh in their clarity as she looked into his, sinking her sword into him. Darkness overtook his vision, nearly claiming him, but something deep inside pulled Fjord from the brink. As blood poured out of his wounds and mouth, he whispered, “Why?”

Her grin widened in time with the hideous laughter from the creature still holding him in its grip, and her lips curled menacingly as she answered, “I heard you.”

Then she swung again.

Fjord understands now that Yasha had not been in control of herself, that Obann had sunk himself so deeply in her mind that even the Storm Lord could not reach her. He can see it in the way she carries grief in the tenseness of her shoulders, the way her eyes are not quite able to meet any of theirs, in the permanent frown resting on her mouth. He knows Yasha would never willingly hurt or betray them.

And yet, a feeling of betrayal is what holds him back, makes him hesitate to open his arms to their returned friend. Betrayal is what nearly killed him once before, and it sent him into the clutches of an evil and punishing god before he found refuge in the warm, inviting embrace of the Wildmother. 

He looks at Yasha and sees what he had been so close to becoming, a path he had toed the line of and nearly walked down. The difference was he had been in complete control of his actions. He had no excuse, but at least he had been able to change his course.

Maybe he’s not being fair to Yasha—he’s being a hypocrite. He can feel her regretful gazer, but Fjord has always been good at pretending and he quickly inserts himself into conversations with the other party members until the burning sensation retreats and he can relax.

It was only a matter of time until she cornered him, with no one else was around and excuses or charming smile to hide behind. 

“Fjord,” she says, his name crisp in her accent. His eyes immediately dart around, looking for a means of escape.

“Yasha.” 

Silence hangs heavy over the two of them and Fjord’s breaths come short and shallow as he feels it press into his chest. Her eyes bore into his, so at odds with how she usually carries herself. For a brief second he sees another harsh grin split across her face, sword raised high and flying towards him, but he blinks and it’s gone. 

The memory stings all the same. 

“I, uh,” Yasha begins, her words clumsy and uncertain, “wanted to apologize to you.”

Fjord swallows. “Oh?”

“For... what happened before," She grimaces at his short response. "I know I hurt you. Badly. And for that I am sorry.” 

Yasha stands only slightly taller than him, just an inch or two, and as such they are nearly at eye level with each other. It makes the task of avoiding her eyes exceedingly difficult. Fjord wants to slip back into the part of the being the aloof, uncaring sort of person who detaches themselves from such a history and moves on like nothing happened. Like it wasn’t anything significant, like it hadn’t wounded something deep and tender within himself. But he had shed that along with Vandren’s accent, and he finds the costume doesn’t fit anymore. 

He can’t escape Yasha’s eyes, so he pours all of his conflicted emotions into his gaze instead. 

“You gave us quite the scare. We weren’t sure what to think of you.” 

Yasha nods, her frown deepening. “I understand. I betrayed all of you. I only hope that I can earn your trust again.” 

Her eyes flit away from his, and he takes the moment to suck in a needed breath before she’s looking at him again, blue and purple peeking at him from beneath her eyelashes. 

“You, uh... you tried to save me. Twice. And I almost killed you.”

“So you remember that.”

“Yes,” Yasha says, “I do.”

If he were a better person, he would acknowledge that it must’ve been a hundred times more difficult for Yasha to be imprisoned in her own body, unable to stop herself as she cut down her friend. He can imagine Caduceas’s disapproving frown and Jester shaking her in disappointment at his behavior, but something blocks the words of understanding and absolution from their path past his lips. Instead, he stares at Yasha and waits for her to say more.

She takes his cue and continues. “I heard you,” she echoes that terrible moment, and his chest seizes instinctively, “I know—I know that doesn’t change anything, but I wanted you to know that was me speaking. I heard you, and I wanted so badly to stop. I couldn’t, but—I heard you.”

Fjord feels anger surge up inside him, and it takes him by surprise. He’s never considered himself to be an angry person. He’s prided himself at being in control of his emotions and using them to ingratiate himself with others. So when the wave of anger sweeps over him, his fists clenching and teeth grinding in response, he feels unlike himself. He catches himself a second after the reaction, but Yasha spotted it. Of course she did. Anger is familiar to her, something she harnesses to protect (to harm) those she loves. 

But she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t step away from him. She takes Fjord’s anger in stride, because this she understands. The acceptance, the humility Yasha displays shakes Fjord to his core.

This moment, where Yasha is making herself vulnerable to him, setting aside fear and pride in order to make things right between them, is a show of courage unlike anything Fjord has yet to accomplish in his life. He thought he had been strong when he defied Uk’otoa. He thought he had been brave when he threw the Falcion into the fire. He thought he had been courageous when he called out to the Wildmother and asked for her guidance.

Yasha makes him look like a damn coward. 

There’s more, Fjord _knows_ there’s so much more here lying between them, but like his past it’s something he doesn’t want to examine right now. It’s so much easier to look ahead and continue forward. The past is the past and addressing it would require disrupting the momentum he’s found himself thrust into, and he can’t bring himself to do that just yet. 

Instead, he nods to Yasha in acknowledgement. He believes her, he knows she speaks the truth. 

“Okay,” he answers, the words so inadequate, so much less than she deserves. “I hear you.”

Yasha, increasingly to her credit and another weight added onto his sins, takes his response in stride, unquestioning and undemanding for more. She smiles in response, the same awkward, small movement of her lips. 

“I noticed you got a new sword,” she says, “It looks cool. If you ever want to, um, practice or anything...”

He remembers the feel of her sword impaling him.

“Sure, yeah,” he says, and he’s pleased that the words come easier than he thought they would. “I would like that.”

It’s not finished between them, Fjord thinks, whatever this _thing_ is. But it’s a start, and Fjord is no stranger to new starts. 

He looks forward to another. 


End file.
